Promise of a Lifetime
by Addict to Fanfics
Summary: Mycroft worried about Sherlock, constantly. Sherlock was his little brother after all and he had promised to look out for him. 5 chronological clips, includes Kid! and Teen!Mycroft.
1. Always

Chronological clips of Mycroft Holmes. Might seem a little OOC but do bear in mind he is _Seven_ in the first clip, sixteen in the second and there are extenuating circumstances for the others.

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**Always **– Mycroft age 7

He sat stiffly in the waiting room chair doing his best not to fidget. He was seven years old, far too old to be wondering about touching everything and annoying the staff or to be swinging his legs about meaninglessly, kicking at nothing. There was no reason for such unrest. He could sit properly and wait patiently. Women had babies safely all the time so there was nothing to worry about. He'd said the words to himself many times already but despite the attempts at calming down he clutched the handle of the umbrella he held tighter using his tightening grip to channel away his nervous energy.

Mummy had been gone an awfully long time though. He twirled the umbrella lightly on the floor. When they first arrived this had caused droplets of rain to fly about but it had long since dried completely during the wait. Surely if something were wrong someone would have told him, right? Or maybe they wouldn't. Mummy knew how smart he was but everyone else always treated him like some brainless child that still ate paper paste. What if something had gone wrong and no one thought to tell him? Maybe he could ask the receptionist for news? Yes, she should be able to find out if Mummy was ok. He got up from the chair and headed to the desk only to be interrupted halfway there.

"Mycroft Holmes?" A young nurse called from the end of the hallway.

He froze in the middle of the waiting room. Oh, no! Mummy! Was something wrong? He turned toward the nurse, "Yes?" his voice was nearly nonexistent but it grabbed the ladies attention.

She smiled calmly at him. "Your mum's ready to see you. You've got a new little brother to meet."

The breath he didn't know he was holding rushed out of him. She was asking for him. Mummy was fine. His little brother was fine. He didn't run to the nurse, it wasn't proper, but he crossed the distance between them as swiftly as he could without seeming rushed. He had to see Mummy for himself.

The nurse led him down a few hallways before stopping at a door and turning to him. "Now your mum is just behind here, alright? But she's going to be tired so try to use a quiet voice, ok?" She didn't wait for an answer but opened the door and ushered him in.

A doctor stood talking to Mummy but quieted when they arrived. Mummy was propped up in the bed holding a small bundle to her chest. She smiled tiredly at him, a soft grin that eased his fears. Mummy was just fine.

"Get up here, Mye, dearest there's someone you should come meet." Mummy looked to the doctor beside her and he grabbed a chair from the side of the room to place beside the bed.

Mycroft climbed onto it to see the bundle she held. He didn't realize he had still been holding the umbrella he'd been toying with earlier but there was nowhere to put it now so he held it in front of him along the side of the bed. The bundle looked even smaller up close. How in the world was his brother in there? Mummy angled the bundle so he could see into it. A wrinkled, red face was all that was visible. He was even tinier inside all the blanketing he was wrapped in.

"Mye, this is your little brother, Sherlock." He stared at the little face presented to him. A little brother. He had a little brother!

"Sherlock, meet your big brother, Mycroft," she cooed at the little bundle before looking up at him once more. "Mye, promise you're going to look out for him. You know, that's the job of big brothers everywhere?" She looked at him with a serious face.

Of course he was going to look out for him. He'd thought of a little brother for ages, not that he'd believed he'd ever get one. "Of course, I always will! I promise…"

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Review? Please?

So that's part1 of my first (intentionally) multi-chaptered fic; there will be 4 more. How is it? I'm looking to improve my writing skills so I'd like to know what's good, what's not good and what makes you tilt your head and go 'huh?'. I've got a friend who usually reviews (if it's a category they read) but they have this habit of being polite, go figure, for reasons of sentimentality due to friendship. If something's good, yes I'd love to hear about it, if something's not good... well that sucks but I'd still like to hear about it.  
~Addict to Fanfics

04/22/13 – 04/24/13


	2. Unneeded

**E061313, 061713 Sorry for the extra alert, some minor changes and additions. About 90 extra story words. If you've already reviewed chap2 and have comments feel free to PM me instead.**

So Part1, 1 community, 2 faves, 3 reviews and 4 followers. Seriously, it makes me grin madly to check story stats and know I didn't totally mess up when writing this. Thanks for showing interest!

Sorry, this one's a little shorter...

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**Unneeded** – Mycroft age 16

Mycroft stood in the receiving room, off the entrance hall to the manor, looking out the bay windows into the lush sunlit yard that graced the property. The sun played across the exquisitely landscaped gardens leaving dappled green leaves and bright flowers to be viewed. It was a view he'd become accustomed to over long years spent playing amongst the range of foliage and it held no interest to him. He would be heading off soon to move his things into his new University dorm and there was one more matter that needed to be tended to before he could take his leave of the place that had been his home for the last sixteen years. That matter was what held his full attention despite his looking elsewhere.

"Come now, dear brother, you've been sitting there for some time. If it's your intention to be here to see me off you will have to speak to me eventually." He hadn't turned from the window as he addressed the room's other occupant.

A quiet scoff was heard from behind him. It was the first sound the other had made since he'd entered almost three-quarters of an hour ago; an astonishing feat of unusual silence. Normally it would be hard to shut his little brother up.

"I'm not here to see you off. I'm here cause Mummy asked me to be." Sherlock's young voice held the tone children everywhere could use when faced with the response of 'please, little one, just for me?'. Contempt for a situation they wished to avoid coupled with resignation to obey the one they loved. It was a tone he'd heard often though usually it was directed at another on behalf of a request he had made to Sherlock. To hear it now in regard to Sherlock being in his presence was jarring.

Mycroft turned then to look at his younger brother. Sherlock was fidgeting idly as he sat, crumbling a cookie from the tea-tray, looking everywhere but at him. The tea itself sat untouched, long since cooled during the disregard of its presence. "Well then, while you're here won't you at least say goodbye to me? I will be leaving soon, little brother." He attempted to bridge the gap that seemed to have formed between them.

Sherlock's eye flashed to him as his face flickered with something bearing a resemblance to sorrow before he smoothed his features into a neutral look and turned away from him once more. As useful a talent as it would be in the future he regretted often teaching Sherlock to manage his facial features in such a manner.

Mycroft could only sigh. "It's not like if you say goodbye I'll never return, Sherlock, and I've given you my number. You only have to call if you need me. I'll be available each day if you wish to talk."

Sherlock burst up from his seat then, his usual manic energy showing in sharp hand gestures and wildly swinging arms. "Just go and leave already! You're always off with your projects and stupid friends anyway. Me an' Mummy don't need you now and we won't when you're gone either." His face was twisted in what resembled hatred but his eyes were bright and wet with unshed tears. He raced from the room as the first began to fall, his hands already moving to hide them. It was a futile gesture but one that could not be helped.

Mycroft made no move to follow him, merely turning back to the window he'd been looking out of. His words were whisper quiet. "Perhaps you don't need me. That doesn't mean I don't need you. I'll always return little brother; you'll see how much I need you both."

He sighed again and slipped his jacket on, heading toward the front door. He had kept his driver waiting long enough. He stopped short at the door and picked up his umbrella from the stand. On a day like today it felt like it should be raining.

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**Review? **Good? Not good? Was the dialogue ok? I'm _really_ not fond of writing conversations.  
Yes, the umbrella made another appearance. Is it Mycroft if he doesn't have one? And Sherlock was destroying the cookies, typical disregard for the idea of _eating_ _them_ when faced with a problem...

W04/25/13, 04/27/13, E060313, 060413, 061313, 061713


	3. Unwanted

**E06/13/13, 061713,061813 Sorry about the extra alert, some minor changes and additions. About 125 extra story words. If you've already reviewed chap3 and have comments feel free to PM me instead.**

06/11/13 So my updating schedule is a little erratic. *shrugs* I may have spent the weekend with friends and visited vampires aka I gave blood, it was amusing if anticlimactic, I wasn't even slightly light-headed after. I do however still have a red dot on my arm, big gauge needles apparently, then forgot I needed to post the next piece when I got back. This is the first thing I've got that has a part three to add.

This chapter is** Rated T** **for mentions of drug use and one word. **

I have to say though that I'm finding it terribly amusing to post a chapter with drug use when I've got a needle mark on my own arm. At least mine was for a good cause?

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**Unwanted** – Mycroft age 26

The sky was overcast as it had been for the last several days but the rain seemed to be refusing to fall to clear the clouds away, even if it would only give a brief respite from London's typical shades of grey. Mycroft stood upon the sidewalk looking up at the truly pitiful apartment building that was made to look even more decrepit, if that was possible, by the half-light provided by the covered sun. He'd been putting off entering on the off chance the one he wanted to see would leave first. Sighing he moved forward and entered the building, the door squeaking loudly as it opened and closed.

The stairs creaked ominously as he ascended them. Sherlock would have perhaps made a comment that it was simply that _his_ weight was too much for them to handle. He would have perhaps, if he wasn't high once more. Reaching the right floor he stepped gratefully off the suspect stairs and walked door the hallway absently noting the flat numbers, and the flats whose numbers were absent. Steeling himself for the, no doubt unpleasant, encounter he pushed open the appropriate door without bothering to knock; no one in this neighborhood would bother to open their door unless they were expecting specific company but there was hardly anything of value to require locking it to begin with.

If the state of the building was dreadful to look at the inside of this flat was almost painful in its state of filth and disrepair. One wall had the barest remains of wallpaper while the others were ghastly mixes of chipped paint and questionable stains. The floor was certainly no better having traces left from pests mixed in piles of garbage and stains of its own to match the walls. At least the building's interior lacked the graffiti its outer walls bore. What interested Mycroft more was the lone occupant though, laid out on the only intact piece of furniture present. He at least looked somewhat cleaner than the apartment itself though the clothing he was wearing was still something Mycroft would have only found fit to toss in a bin. "Good afternoon, Sherlock."

While his entrance hadn't been anything the other noted, the familiar voice pulled him from the drugged haze he'd entered and he bolted upright from his slumped position only to droop once more as it registered who the familiar voice belonged to. "Oh go fuck yourself, Mycroft. The afternoon is hardly good now that you've arrived." His tone was positively dripping with disgust at his brother's presence.

Mycroft almost winced at the offensive reply but settled for rolling his eyes. Drugs had always made Sherlock more vulgar in his speech. "Pleasant as always." He sighed. "Must you really be so crude? A simple 'afternoon' or 'to you also' would be a sufficient reply."

"It would also be utterly boring. I'm high not brain dead, Mycroft, but dealing with you're presence here might just drive me to change that." Sherlock remained sprawled out on the couch not even bothering to open his eyes during the conversation. He missed the visible wince Mycroft gave at the mention of his possible death. He couldn't understand the disregard Sherlock had for his health. As flippant about his death as he was it was truly a possibility and that made his nonchalant treatment of the matter all the worse to deal with.

"My presence can hardly be worse than the company you've been keeping or are your fellow addicts simply such good conversationalists because you're too strung out to comprehend their words and substitute your own? I would have thought a little proper conversation would be the highlight of your empty days." The word's tones were harsher than he'd intended but seeing Sherlock in such a state always brought out the worst reactions in him. He saw Sherlock flinch. A small movement any other would have missed; the bitterness drained out of him.

"Unlike you, Mycroft, I don't require such trivial things as _people_ to fill my time. As I'm sure you can observe I have much better things to occupy myself with." He gestured languidly to the gear littering the floor beside the dilapidated couch. "I would think you would have more sense that to waste time where you obviously aren't needed or wanted. Why have you come, _dear brother_?"

The bitterness returned full force and his features twisted with disdain before he could smother the anger that rose at Sherlock's blatant disregard for his health. "You're right." His words were clipped, his tone icy. "I can observe quite clearly what you've been wasting your time on. I came to extend an invitation to a clinic once more; a fully equipped facility that would be more than sufficient to deal with your current interests."

"Not. Interested." The conversation was over, if ever their sniping at one another had been considered conversing to begin with.

It was the answer he always received but Mycroft couldn't help but grip the handle of his umbrella tighter on receiving yet another negative response. He took a breath and loosened his grip. He stood there a moment longer to simply look at his little brother's lithe form before turning away toward the door. "Goodbye, Sherlock." He received no response. He hadn't expected one but he had hoped none the less that perhaps this visit would be different.

He made his way back down the hallway and the frighteningly creaky stairs but halted before exiting the stairwell taking a few moments to rest his head against one slightly less abhorrent wall and simply breathe. He straightened then to his usual posture and left the building nodding to the two men waiting outside the door. He stood watching as they entered. When they returned Sherlock would be with them, cursing foully enough to turn the air blue no doubt, and railing against Mycroft for forcing this on him once again. The two would see Sherlock transported to the facility Mycroft had mentioned earlier where he would be held for rehab.

He left before Sherlock was brought down. They both knew logically that it needed to happen.  
This wasn't the route either of them wanted to take though.

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W04/27/13, E061013, 061313, 061713, 061813


	4. Unnecessary

**06/19/13 Edited ch2ch3 while I was supposed to be working on ch4. *shrugs* Chapter 4 wouldn't flow how I wanted. Though ch4 is a little shorter, there's about 215 story words extra between ch2 and ch3. A bunch of little additions and a couple (small) changes if you want to look. If you already reviewed them and have comments/questions you can just PM me.**

A side note but did anyone notice P1 only had 'always' (ie, didn't have need, want or necessary), P2 had 'always and need', P3 had 'always, need and want'? P4 has forms of Always, Need, Want and Necessary. It was just a fun side idea while writing to have each chapter have the previous chapter titles in it along with the current title. It made P1 & 2 a little difficult - they got edited a couple times before posting to remove future chapter titles. It was surprisingly easy to include a form of each title in the next section though.

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**Unnecessary** – ASiP spoilers

Mycroft sat in his study looking at the folder that lay closed before him. His umbrella and shoes had been quickly abandoned in the entryway when he's arrived at his flat and a glass of scotch had just as quickly made its way into the loose grip of his hand with the bottle sitting closed beside him. He already knew the folder's contents; there was no reason to view them again. The first time he'd seen the information it had been to late anyway. It was a completed aftermath report of the evening's events. Of the events Sherlock had been a central figure in.

Closing his eyes he could visualize the information in the report with ease. The events in question had come to a head rather rapidly. One day routine surveillance had been sufficient to monitor his brother's whereabouts and condition. Then it had failed and his people were left scrambling for information that could mean the difference between his brother's continued life or his willing death.

The serial killer Sherlock had been looking for had showed up at 221B Baker Street. Sherlock had willingly left with the man to destination unknown, always one to disregard safety in favour of intrigue. A call had been taken and units dispatched to reports of a gunshot; an ambulance was also dispatched of course. One fatality confirmed. The remaining party detained there but unharmed. The initial report mentioned Sherlock's presence at the scene but hadn't contained the details of the identity of the victim or the secondary party. He'd been driven to the location upon receiving the report; an unease present in him that was not displayed.

If Sherlock was unharmed there would only be derision for him having shown up flustered after the event. If Sherlock were already dead there was no longer a reason for him to feel anyway; caring was not an advantage but Sherlock had always been his exception. Upon arriving at the scene he had hesitated only briefly before exiting the car. He needed to know what had transpired and he wasn't going to let sentiment keep him from knowledge out of fear of what he might find. Hesitance would change nothing about what he would find out at this point, merely when he would find it.

Several officers and forensic techs had littered the area surrounding the police cars and ambulance; a lone figure stood on the opposite side of the police tape looking in on the scene. Another figure approached them, shoulders covered in the orange of a typical shock blanket which was discretely thrown into a nearby police car. The form was undeniably identifiable as Sherlock; whole, healthy and for once seeming genuinely happy to be in another's presence. The uncertainty he could handle with aplomb, he had dealt with it often enough; his legs had wanted to give out from the relief he felt though at viewing the scene. One could easily be braced for the worst but relief played havoc on one's systems. He had locked his legs in place leaning lightly on his umbrella for balance, waiting as his brother approached.

The conversation had been short and though abrupt and caustic as usual Sherlock had seemed in good humor owing to his new friend's misconception of their relation to one another. Not in years had they had so civil a meeting that did not involve one of them being unconscious for a least a portion of it. In the end he'd watched Sherlock walk away with his new flatmate; the two of them giggling over some comment they'd made. Genuine mirth over anything as simple as a few words was a reaction he had long since given up on trying to coax from Sherlock and yet this stranger had done so a number of times this evening. It would seem there was a great deal to think on this evening.

With the matter of his brother's continued existence among the living resolved he had headed back to the office to finish the night's work and when that was done he'd finally headed home. The folder that currently lay before him brought with him secured in the briefcase used whenever a 'SH' situation arose. He took a few sips from the glass he was holding. No, there was no reason to open the folder. Like any other time he'd received one it had only been so he could deal with the aftermath of whatever mess his brother had gotten sucked into. Only this time he hadn't even been the one to get Sherlock out. A man Sherlock had known for a day had done it for him and received the appreciation Sherlock would never have shown Mycroft. His presence this evening hadn't been necessary and as the man was Sherlock's new flatmate it seemed it wouldn't be again. He left the glass sitting atop the closed folder and retreated to bed for the night. Perhaps come morning things would look a little brighter.

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Consider part 4 the unhappy ending and part 5 the happy-ish ending. Originally it was only 4 and it would have ended here but when I presented the idea to a friend I decided I wanted a nice round 5 so there's one more left.

Perhaps Mycroft is being... overly dramatic in his reading of his worth but from his point of view he was absolutely useless that evening and even normally he is only able to manage the aftermath of whatever trouble Sherlock finds. Now there's another player who not only was able to aid Sherlock during the events in question but also seems able to make Sherlock genuinely enjoy having his company. Holmes brothers never do anything halfway so... should sentiment be any different?

W05/04/13, 05/06/13, 05/08/13, 05/10/13, E061313, 061413, 061713, 061813


	5. For Forever and a Day

06/26/13 Um, I'm sorry? I may have forgotten about this... *shrugs* my grandmother stayed over for a while. She's in her eighties so you wouldn't think about going out much. Right. She's more like that little old lady that will outlive everyone because she won't slow down to give death the time of day. Heading to restaurants, or just going out walking. I walked to Tim Hortons with her for breakfast. _Walked_, no cane or walker etc. and some of it uphill. I did mention she's in her eighties, yes? Either way was out of the house a lot.

Anyway- I might have remembered sooner if I'd received a review notice after she left.

If you read 'The Least' (05/21/13) you'll probably recognize some of the format of the first bit. This section is the one I referenced as what I was _supposed_ to be writing. There was more than a week in between part4 completion and part5 starting with a beginning that I _finally_ liked. This is also the longest chapter of this story, hope it was worth sticking around for.

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**For Forever and a Day** – RF spoilers, happy-ish ending? Beware of sentiment?

Sherlock was gone. He had believed that with Sherlock's rather manic take on life that he would indeed outlive his little brother. Even now though coming from having just attended the funeral he couldn't quite believe that it was true. That Sherlock was gone. It was a constant in his life. Sherlock was there, Sherlock would get in trouble, Sherlock would be bailed out of it again and life would continue. Everything he had become was the result of an initial idea to make sure he would always have what he needed to be able to keep his brother alive. To keep his brother safe, or as safe as his chosen lifestyle would allow. What was he supposed to do now? He wanted a drink before contemplating his future actions. Today of all days, having buried his little brother, he thought deserved a good stiff drink. Before he could even consider such matters though it was necessary to that he maintain his usual decorum till he reached more private settings; the British Government was not ruled by sentiment.

He watched as the streets went by and eventually his driver stopped outside his central London flat; his favourite though it was rarely used. He waved his driver, and semi-formal bodyguard, off as he reached the door. He wouldn't be going anywhere else today. The British Government might not be ruled by sentiment but Anthea could still handle any matters of importance, for a day if not forever. Entering the flat he thrust his umbrella brusquely into the nearby stand and sighed as he toed off his shoes. He reached up to loosen and remove his tie and opened the top two buttons of his dress shirt after tossing the tie on the entryway table. Sherlock had never been one for standing on ceremony inside one's own house (or in others' houses he thought as he remembered a certain sheet-clad trip his brother had taken) and today seemed a day to humour him, even if in so small a way.

He had made his way leisurely toward his study to procure the drink he'd been thinking of; a rather full glass of nicely aged whiskey. He'd been saving the bottle's contents for the occasional evening after successful campaigns but if he was going to give Sherlock a private send off it might as well be a proper one and that whiskey was the only drink he had here he could stomach more than a few polite sips of; an extra reminder to drink sparingly even when not in the company of others. Lost in his own thoughts of what Sherlock might have thought of his evening plans, for once he failed to observe his surroundings. It came then as a shock when he turned from taking his first salutory mouthful from his now filled glass to find what appeared to be his brother's pale corpse laying in limp repose upon the couch in his study. The glass slipped from senseless fingers; expensive contents long forgotten as they seeped into the plush carpet.

He stood frozen for only a moment before his body moved forward of its own accord. A moment was all it took to observe; dead bodies didn't breath, this body took slow languid breaths denoting peaceful sleep. He doesn't register crossing the short distance. Such a lapse in memory should be astonishing and worrying but for once he cannot bring himself to care. One moment he is taking a step toward the room's other occupant the next he has dropped softly to his knees beside them; a hand hovering by the other's face, wavering, as if he cannot bear to touch them and yet feeling compelled to do so also.

Before he can resolve this dichotomy of feelings the figure stirs and he withdraws his hand, sharply as if burned though no contact has been made. They blink sleepily and observe their observer seemingly at ease at having woken to such scrutiny; Mycroft can see the subtle tension presented in the slightest of flinches though. For a time they merely sit, each watching the other watching them. He looks somewhat ragged, Mycroft notes. The clothing does not have his usual flair. A worn pair of slightly baggy jeans, an unzipped hooded jacket that looks like it was fished out of someone's bin, meaning it probably was, and a tight shirt with crude language on it. His hair has been trimmed short, turned spiky with gel and dyed a light warm brown. His distinctive eyes are hidden behind dull brown lenses. His face is the same though, full of sharp angles, and his distinctive hands and long fingers show plainly as he unconsciously pulls at the slightly too-short jacket sleeves.

Mycroft's legs start to pain him and he realises how long they've sat silently but he cannot bring himself to move away to a more comfortable seat; any distance between them would be too much. As if sensing this, the other figure shifts on the couch to make room. He gets up slowly in deference to his slightly numb legs and sits hesitantly in the space made for him. When he has finished moving the other finally speaks.

"Hello, Mye." The familiar voice and nickname he'd thought lost wash over him and it takes every bit of ice purported to be within him to not do something as undignified as emit a whimper at hearing it again.

It seems like these words open the floodgates because the words come spilling out though he won't look at Mycroft during his recitation. All that has happened these past days and weeks, all that he had deduced and decided, every detail of his actions, comes pouring out. He sits and listens to it all offering no comments, until slowly the flow ebbs and silence reigns once more. The other, his little brother, _Sherlock,_ glances up at him finally, warily, trying to gauge his reaction to all he has just been told before ducking his head to hide startlingly expressive eyes once more. Mycroft leans forward to bridge the gap that is between them using his hand to lift Sherlock's chin so their eyes would meet, reading every fear that was displayed there for those who know how to look. He placed a light kiss on his brother's brow and watched as Sherlock's eyes fluttered shut, his body sagging in relief of the acceptance of his actions and forgiveness for his deceit.

"As I have told you, when you were born Mummy made me promise as part of an older brother's duty. I didn't promise _her_ anything. I promised _you_. Always, whether I was needed, wanted, or necessary that I'd try to look out for you and help you as best I could. My words then were childish, _'I promise, Little Brother, for forever and a day._' Those words, the promise I made, still stand. You'll always have me Sherlock, for forever and a day."

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Wow, yes, the ending was sappy/sentimental. But it's roughly what I had planned out when I started.

I had a lot of fun playing with this and if you look there are oblique references to previous chapters in this one. I'm not referring to the chapter titles (though of course they're present too) and don't forget I edited ch2 and ch3. Part one was 'the result of an initial idea' referencing 'thought about a little brother for ages' section preceding Mycroft's promise. Can you find the others for part 2-4? Fair warning, they're not in order.

So... one last review? Pretty please?

Anyway, Promise of a Lifetime is done. My first (intentionally) multichaptered fic. So... more multichapter works, more oneshots or try for a mix?  
~Addict to Fanfics

W3625 E4399  
W05/19/13, 05/20/13, 05/21/13, 05/23/13, E052713, 060413, 061013, 061313, 061813


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